[WP] A mob chases a child through the cobblestone streets, "Asylum--please." the child says as they enter the cathedral.

Father Ricardo was not expecting the child that entered the door of his church. It was a misty Tuesday night, the quiet kind where it's generally considered rude to do anything, save for read a book under the covers. Yet here was this child, breathing heavily, back pressed up against the large wooden doors guarding the temple of God from sin.

"I need your help, sir," the child said.

It was a girl, of about six or seven. She had rags for clothes, a freckled face, strawberry hair, and an air of mischief. Ricardo didn't trust her one bit.

"Child," he said, "why are you here? Return to your parents, they will be worried about you."

Her eyes dimmed, and she spoke with a passion.

"Please, God, anything but that. Protect me please."

A knock on the doors. She ran, and ducked behind Ricardo's billowing robes. A knock again. Ricardo reached behind his back, and placed a reassuring hand on the girl's head.

"Open up, we know you're in there," a snarl came.

Ricardo turned to look at the girl, but he only saw a fleeting shadow move behind the farthest pew. He moved to open the door, only to find three burly men, dressed in suits. The lead who had been knocking had bushy eyebrows and a dark mustache, making it difficult to make out the features of his face. The others, clean shaven, made there way inside, and began not so subtly searching.

"Hello, Father," the lead said, with the slightest hint of an accent, "we come to you this night searching for a certain little girl."

Ricardo swallowed.

"I did not see a girl, sir, I have been tending the records all night."

Ricardo felt a slight pain for his lie, but he felt in this scenario Jesus might forgive his inadequacy.

"No service tonight?" the man asked. He removed his hat, placed it on the rack next to the door, and ran his hand through his greasy hair.

"Father, I'm not a religious man, though I have attended my fair share of services," he started, "because I find that religion, especially religious figures, are rather empty. Hypocrisy pervades you, if you will. The church says one thing, but the ministers decide on another. Jesus tells you not to steal, yet one may disobey simply because they wish it so. Religion, Father, tends to be a farce in my humble opinion."

The two other men had swept the pews, and evidently found no sign of the girl. One shook his head at the leader. The leader sighed, and continued.

"Forgive my anecdotes, but I find they are most effective for these discussions. For example, I know a girl who owes me something, quite valuable in fact. And I know she is quite the devout Jew, yet I find her reneging on a fairly made agreement."

The mans eyes seemed to be red, fiery. He leaned closer, his stature casting a long shadow over Ricardo.

"I know many, many people who disobey their Lord God, and they who do not repent tend to suffer. I know you Ricardo. I know your dealings with women of the night. I know your waning belief in a God after seeing the streets at night, filled with the ragged and downtrodden. So you will come to me soon if you do not rectify your ways."

Ricardo felt the eyes of the girl upon him, from behind the organ where the two lackeys had not yet checked.

"So I suggest that you deal with me... in the proper way. I will say it again. The girl owes me something I greatly desire. And should you not rightfully assist me in this, there will be dire consequences."

Ricardo, thoroughly terrified, pointed toward the organ. The leader nodded, and the two men closed in on either side. The organ played a single, haunting note as the girl tried to climb away, but she was caught, and dragged kicking and screaming back towards Ricardo and the man. Her face was bright red, and tears mixed with snot and soot creating a strange hue to her face as she cried out to Ricardo.

"Father, why have you forsaken me?"

Ricardo held his head and moved towards the pew, and sat, world spinning. The two men exited the church with the screaming girl fighting the whole way. The smell of a rose accompanied the man as he approached Ricardo, smiling the whole way.

"You did the right thing, Father," he said, watching the silent tears on Ricardo's face. He knelt in front of him, and gently took his chin in his hand. "Chin up, Father. After all you know what they say."

The man cackled and walked to the doors, and turned one last time, to cast his wicked smile on Ricardo.

"Tell the truth to shame the Devil."

And the man closed the doors, leaving Ricardo alone with his manuscripts.

[WP] The year is 1944 near the end of WWII. You jokingly wrote 'Free Wife' on your tank but never been good at spelling you wrote 'Free wifi' instead. People start knocking with weird looking handy devices in hand asking for password

The paint on the exterior of the tank was chipped, worn from the sheer number of hands that had knocked, the demand for "internet." Robert was baffled by this. He assumed it had to do with the "free wifi" he had written on the side of his tank, but he had no clue. Wifi wan't even a word, after all. At the moment, he was in the outskirts of France, not assigned to the front lines. Hitler was pushed back, a broken leader of a broken nation, using the last vestiges of strength to be a general pain in the ass.

Another knock on the side. Robert sighed. He had sat in silence in the tank, book in hand, waiting for his shift to end so he could return to the barracks. He had plans to visit the whorehouse with his regiment buddies, he hadn't seen Linda since he'd been deployed from the States. He wasn't going to do anything, but he liked knowing the option was there.

The knock returned, freeing Robert from his thoughts. He sat up, climbed the ladder, and opened the hatch. A man, wrapped in a plaid scarf, sporting rather strange glasses, peered up at him.

"You said there's why-fie here?" he asked.

"Sir, I don't know what why-fly is, and I have no intent of learning now," Robert said. The camp surrounding the two men was devoid of Robert's companions, they had all either left, or died in battle.

"I didn't say 'why-fly'. I said 'why-fie'" the man responded. He looks rather queer, Robert thought, queer indeed. The man watched Robert intently, waiting for him to do anything. He didn't.

"Do you have any why-fie?" the man asked again. Robert grimaced.

"I don't have any damn who-fie, or what-fie, or why-fie, that's not a real word and you're not a real man. This is a camp, a place for men, not for little boys like yourself. Go home to your mommy, maybe one day you'll figure out how to hold a weapon."

The man scoffed, and skulked away, holding his device in the air, searching for something. Robert slid down the ladder back to his chair, his post. Kids these days don't understand how tough it used to be, he thought. Suddenly, he heard a crash. He peeked out the hatch again, and the sky was red. Bullets rained down on him, he saw men and women mowed down as they charged towards the Germans, saw planes in the air, saw shrapnel rain down on his best friends and worst enemies. He exited the tank, and ran away. And ran and ran and ran, until now he was running towards enemy lines. He turned, and everywhere was enemy lines, advancing, closer and closer, forcing themselves upon him, beating and bruising him, and as Robert's vision grew black, he felt peaceful.

He woke up in his bed, in the hospital. A young man dressed in scrubs entered, tablet in hand, and looked.

"Good morning Bob, are you feeling any better?" he asked.

Bob blinked. He was back in the tank, accompanied by his crew. Mortars rained around him, his ears rang from the sounds of the battlefield.

He blinked again, and he was sweating, and breathing heavily. The man held his arm.

"Bob, you had another episode. We need to sedate you, do you understand me?"

He shook his head, and he was in the brothel, with a lady of the night. His every instinct screamed to leave, Linda had stayed loyal to you, don't betray her like this, but he wasn't in control of his past.

Back in the hospital, kind eyes of the queer man staring.

Back in the States. His wife screaming. Leaving. Alone. Buddies dead, family abandoned.

Hospital. The doctor standing where Bob had left him. Watching nervously, intently, with that damn tablet of his.

Sitting alone at the table in a coffee shop in London, watching young couples in love taking pictures on their phones, always asking for the why-fie, never noticing his jealous eyes as they tried to warn, to stop, to make them realize the pain they were sentencing themselves to.

"Bob. I'm using the needle now."

Needle. Needling pain. Bullets, firing. Ripping into his arm, his flesh, lying on the field, begging God for mercy but receiving none, abandoning any misguided patriotism, just praying for death, an end to the pain.

Bob, paralyzed, could only move his eyes in a desperate attempt to ward off the medicine, dispel the terrifying memories and dreams he was subjected to in his sleep. But the doctor did not understand. He nodded, and pressed a button, and Bob's eyes felt the weight of the world, and he slept.

The doctor left the room, and checked his phone. The nurse approached him, peeked in the door, and saw Bob in his comatose state.

"Did someone visit to talk to him?" she asked.

The doctor shook his head.

"He's all alone."

[WP] Death is not really immortal. He just chooses a human for replacement after his 1000 years of duty. Now, he choose you.

He found me alone, on my bed in the home. As soon as the lights flickered, and the mirror darkened, I knew he had come to take me, whisk me away into the void, where all we know is undone, all consciousness and sentience nullified. To claim my life.

To describe him is an impossible task, but I will try. He comes in a dark suit, black blazer, pants, tie, shirt. His eyeglasses are tinted; if the eyes are the windows to the soul it's obvious why he wears them. His mouth never forms a smile, only a grimace at best. He doesn't love his job, he doesn't enjoy it, it's just work to him.

He sat down in a plastic lawn chair in the corner, displacing the dust that had formed there so many months ago. He unbuttoned his blazer, and opened his mouth.

"How are you, kind sir?"

His voice oozed like molasses, lulling you to quiet repose and complacency. He didn't need to relax me though, I was prepared.

"I'm ready to leave," I said, "this life hasn't done me many favors. It's time for me to be freed."

He chuckled at this, amused by my arrogance. To think I was special enough to be freed, to no longer be aware? I was foolish.

"You have a bit longer to wait then," he said, and procured a pen and note pad from his jacket. On it was a list of names, accompanied by dates. The pad was ridiculously thick, yet fit perfectly into the palm of my hand. It went all the way back to zero, signed with indecipherable, cryptic strokes, ended with... "present." The last name, Carlos Garcia, jumped off the page.

"Is this... is this you?" I asked.

He shook his head.

"Not anymore. I'm nothing now." he took off his blazer, and laid it on the bed next to me. As he continued stripping down, he spoke.

"I've chosen you, friend. You're a suitable candidate."

Off came the tie, set onto the bed.

"Why me?"

"Look at you. Rotting away in this room, no one visiting you, not even the people paid to care about you give a damn."

His words silenced me. The polished dark shoes and dress socks were next. His face, paler than before, seemed almost translucent.

"You don't care about anyone, why should you? They don't care about you. I picked you out from a mile away, no competition."

He must have seen my face, so he continued.

"It's not a bad gig. It's a bit lonely, but that's nothing new, right?" he wheezed. His black dress shirt and pants were on the bed, along with the glasses, and all I could see now was a dark cloud where my reckoning once stood.

"Chin up. It's only a thousand years. You'll have fun. And when you're done..." the voice began to fade, "we can meet up on the other side."

The already darkening cloud vanished entirely, leaving me alone, as I had always been, in my assigned tomb.

I struggled into sitting position, and looked at the clothes. He's right, I thought, I really don't give a damn, do I?

I pulled off my gown, and began to button up the shirt. It was cool to the touch, but comforting in a strange way. The pants were next, they were hemmed perfectly to my size. I hadn't tied a tie in years, but my hands made the familiar motions, and my strength returned. I stood up from my bed. The socks and shoes were next, those came easily. I put the blazer on, my costume nearly complete. When I looked in the mirror, however, I saw my eyes, or what were my eyes. Souless. Dead. Empty. No different, I chuckled to myself. I put the eyeglasses on, and I felt... strong. Capable. In control. Then, a sharp pain in my head, to the left. Calling. Beckoning. I put the pad and pen in my pocket and walked out the door. To my left was a door, slightly ajar. I could hear their breath from outside, their ever slowing heartbeat filling my head. I walked to the door. I opened it. I entered, and shut it behind me. Perhaps an uneventful first, but Death must come for us all.

[WP] You become the first person to discover time travel, however, you can only go back in time 1 second.

I always kept the button in my pocket, for special occasions. One second isn't that much after all, but one never knows when it could be useful. I used it for minute things mostly. Maybe I burned my finger, or answered a trivia question wrong. It didn't have much practical use, but it was pretty cool. That is what my wife said. "It's nice and all, but you need to find something worthwhile to use it on!"

She was probably right, but one second couldn't make any difference.

I arrived home from the lab, button in my coat pocket, and opened the door, expecting the familiar smell of stew, or a steak perhaps, her steaks were always the best. When I entered, it was dark and silent, save for the soft glow of the television in the other room. I walked in, and saw her eyes glazed over, absentmindedly watching some reality show.

"Hey," I said, "what's up? Should I order a pizza or something?"

She looked at me, startled, and turned back to the television. Her hair was in a messy bun, the streaks of grey only accentuating her beauty. But the wrinkles on her face didn't form their usual tired smile, the quiet happiness found in suburban utopia.

"I'm sorry, I just haven't had the greatest day," she replied.

I noticed on the table an official looking document. I walked over to it, and picked it up. It was the results.

"Oh." I said.

"Yeah." she said.

I was sterile, officially at least. We'd been trying for nearly twenty years, with no hope. We had always thought it was because we married late, didn't bother with any of the pseudo-pregnancy enhancers.

"I - I don't know what to say." I said.

She just looked sadly at me, then back at the television.

"I just... I don't know. This is all I've wanted, since I can remember."

She stood up, and made her way upstairs. I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, and sat at the counter. Sterile? How could it be possible? I was shocked. Me? Of all people... Me? I discovered time travel! I've broken the laws of goddamn quantam physics... and I can't have a kid. I coughed. I heard rattling upstairs, but I ignored it. She was understandably upset. I failed her.

Surely there's something I can do? Not with money, obviously, but maybe we can take a roadtrip, explore our relationship. We'll get through this. I heard her make her down the stairs, each step followed by a clack. I walked into the foyer.

She stood with a suitcase and her car keys.

"I can't. I just can't. I love you with all my heart... but between this and your work... I never see you. I don't know you."

I was floored.

"You don't mean that! This is a setback, but we can adapt, we always have! We can adopt a child, or have a surrogate!"

"You don't get it. I want it to be ours, not someone else's. It needs to be mine, don't you get it? It... it just has to. Look... I'll keep in touch, but only so we can try to keep this split... unmessy. But this just isn't going to work anymore."

"Where is this coming from?" I asked.

"This is a build-up, don't you get it? It's been years since we've done anything together, we never go anywhere for the holidays, I never see my friends because I'm busy making your damn dinner every night."

She collected herself, and continued.

"This just isn't right for me or you, I think you know that. This isn't meant to be, God didn't destine us for each other."

I didn't respond. She awkwardly brushed the hair from her face.

"This can't work. It never could like this. I love you."

She walked out the front door. I felt my hand instantly press the button.

"I love you, good-"

I pressed it again.

"I love you,"

Again.

"I love you,"

Again.

"I love you,"

"I love you,"

"I love you,"

[WP] Everyone knows about the frog prince. A kiss turns him back, accomplished easily enough. But what about the lesser known "dragon prince," because how does one go about kissing a dragon?

Diana was not entirely comfortable being wrapped in a coat of cow meat and being left to her own devices outside of a dragon's cave, but her father said it was necessary. The prince of Agathon, Henri, had been turned into a dragon by some sort of strange witchcraft. The details, her father had said, were not important. Just get in, give the dragon a quick smooch, no big deal. Marry the prince, kingdoms are allied, everyone lives happily ever after. Unless, of course, Diana were to be, perhaps, **eaten**, like the meat she was slathered in. The guardsmen were supposedly surrounding her with pikes and fire in case the dragon prince had truly lost his mind, but the sounds of drinking and camaraderie had faded off into the distance, and she assumed they were off drunk in a field, dancing without a care in the world.

Diana was not enjoying herself.

An earsplitting roar shattered her eardrum, and she cried out in shock. She heard the sound of the beast slowly making its way from the depths of its cave, marching like a soldier to battle, although this would most likely not be much of a battle. She backed away slowly, then turned, then ran as fast as she could, before tripping over her high heels (which she was, might I add, forced to wear). Diana turned onto her back, and watched as a magnificent emerald dragon emerged from the cave. The behemoth was the size of a house, with scales glittering like a riverbed in spring. Her gasps of horror had turned into gasps of shock and wonder at the nature of the dangerous creature. The two, the dragon and Diana, peered into each other's eyes. Diana saw herself reflected in the black irises of the dragon, the yellow surrounding showing a thousand mirror images of herself, demeaned and small in the face of Mother Earth's magnum opus.

She stood, and slowly, maintaining eye contact, removed the suit of meat from her shoulders. The dragon purred and moved closer, sniffing at the bouquet of carnal flesh presented to it. A forked tongue snaked between rows of hideous, stained teeth, sharp enough to cut rock, and hard enough to crush as well.

The dragon gently leaned down, and snapped up the meat. After completing its hard-won meal, it gazed at Diana again. And Diana remembered her purpose for being humiliated in such a fashion, to meet a handsome prince and please her father. She approached slowly, her leather jerkin covered in sweat, her once pale and pristine skin dirtied and muddled, and lay a hand on the dragon's snout. The dragon did not snap, but it did not move either. It simply gazed at her entirety down the bridge of its nose, watching Diana's every movement.

Diana planted a kiss on the snout.

And... nothing happened. She tried again, but this time, the dragon snorted from the gentleness of her touch. Her proximity to its nostrils caused her to be knocked off of her feet, and she fell to the ground with a thud. The dragon approached her as if she were prey, crouching down and slinking towards her like a cat to a frightened mouse. Diana lay completely still. The dragon reached her, and brought its snout to her stomach, and Diana silently wept, preparing to meet God.

But the dragon nuzzled her stomach. And Diana realized this was not Henri at all.

She stood slowly, making no sudden movements. The dragon simply watched her, and Diana realized this was no monster, nor a man trapped in a monster's skin. She was unsure if this was a Henri forever destined to be trapped in a dragon's skin, or an entirely different beast altogether, but she didn't care. She stroked the scales, and she felt the animal vibrate with her touch.

In the distance, she heard the guardsmen finally react to the sounds her dangerous waltz had produced. She could imagine the brutes sluggishly retrieving their weapons, coming to slay the "monster". Not like this graceful creature, of another world. She felt kinship towards this creature, not towards the fools of her own race. And she made her way around the dragon, and climbed on its back.

The dragon huffed, almost in agreement, and ascended into the night sky, to take the two somewhere where they might forget the boorish decisions of humans.

[IP] Adventure

She craved adventure. Down to her core, her bones, the essence of her being. The home life had never beckoned to her, it repulsed her in fact. The thought of staying in the village, being a matron, or alternatively, a teacher, brought intense pain to her. She was a wild spirit, not a docile soul.

The day she had left, she had heard it one million times. "Don't go," or, "This isn't what you really want," or, "You'll regret it if you leave."

She cared not. Her destiny lay in the far reaches of the world, of the unbounded territory her ancestors had crossed mapped, and allowed to be forgotten with the passage of time. But she had the same fire to set her ablaze as the great trailblazers did, the knowledge that should she have stayed, the only purpose she could find would be what if?

She huddled her cloak around her more tightly, the wind chilled her, but not enough to put her out. In fact, it simply spoke a challenge to her, a dare. Will you rise to the occasion? Can you survive?

Unaware of what lay ahead, she stopped at the edge of a hill, overlooking the valley behind which lay the Old Mountains, a place her people had not know since their inception. As she paused, she recalled her father's words at her departure, "Should you leave, you may never come back."

And that was exactly the push she needed.

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IP courtesy of:

https://hazpainting.deviantart.com/

[WP] You are God. You just logged on to one of your old saves, and you’re confused as to where those massive lizards went and where all these pink ******* came from.

He opened his old "Terra' save, only to find his delicately crafted creatures gone. The massive dinoasaurs he had so carefully curated were missing, and in their place were some sort of strange, fleshy, inefficient creatures with no badass tails. This, understandably, made God curious. He check the log of events, but the log went too far back for him to understand the fate of his prized virtual companions.

"What the hell?" God said. He wanted to know what happened, but he had no clue how to find out. So he created a new character. The game had evidently adjusted itself, as his old character, the Megolodon, was no longer available, and apparently he was forced into a small variety of starter classes. He chose the fleshy one, the one that was so unattractive and disgusting.

Strangely, he did not arrive at the character customization screen, but instead began in a manger, surrounded by NPCs of the same strange race. He didn't recognize any of the animals, they were all furry, not scaly.

The kind, dark face of a female NPC watched his character intently, looking for a sign. God accessed the source code, and saw that he didn't recognize the algorithms running in the entire world, let alone this one AI. The world He had created Himself had wrested itself away from Him.

God shrugged. He played through, and as he learned more about the new culture of these "humans," He learned more about how to enjoy Himself. This game, after all, was far more complex than the simple action game Terra used to be. He began to modify the source code to give His character admin powers.

He turned a stack of water into a stack of wine by using the mod window, then, ten minutes later, he rezzed an NPC he felt a particular affinity towards. His legend grew among the people of the game, and He began to call his character "Son of God." This infuriated some of the enemy NPCs, but he assumed that was the game trying to throw a challenge his way.

Little by little, God noticed that when he left his game, whenever he came back Son of God would change. The beard would grow, he would have gained more followers, made more enemies. The game appeared to be adapting to His frequent absence of controlling Son of God. This, while slightly disturbing to Him, didn't concern Him too much until the fateful day.

God had grown bored. There was no easy way to traverse outside of the starting area, and He quickly grew bored. He opened the mod window, and programmed one of Son of God's followers to have the new "betrayer" trait. Sure enough, Son of God was betrayed to the enemy NPCs.

God left the monitor, curious to see the outcome.

When He came back, Son of God was gruesomely pinned to a wooden cross. God was shocked, and observed the game with morbid curiosity. The game had decided on this awful punishment, without God's prompting. He sat back.

Then, Son of God looked at the monitor.

"Why, God, have you forsaken me?" he said, tears mixing with blood on his dirt covered face.

God, so shocked, turned off the computer.

He took three days before he gathered the courage to turn the computer back on. When he did, the Son of God character file had been deleted. Feeling merciful, God found the source code, and retrieved His character file. He had grown attached to these fleshy meat sacks, and wanted to see Son of God's story through. When Son of God awoke, he phased through the dungeon his corpse had died in. God watched as Son of God guided Himself through the world, giving news of his return and praising God for His mercy.

Then, when God felt it was time to go, He deleted Son of God's character file once more, and watched as the Son of God gave a bittersweet smile, and faded away.

God turned off the computer. He decided to come back in another 1,000 years, just to see what Terra could cook up next. Terra was a game to Him after all, not His priority.

The Synthetic Man (Excerpt)

John Christenson had not come with the intent of being lectured, and yet that is precisely what he arrived to. The hovering lights in the rafters above cast a soft white light across every pew, letting none in the congregation escape from the radiance of His love. Or at least, that was how Buddy interpreted it. John instead saw a weak attempt at symbolism in the church, another failing effort by the money hungry in the Vatican to save a dying religion. These lights weren’t mandated by the Vatican, but the benefits given by the Pope surely encouraged. After all, a cardinal personally visiting and blessing your church was nothing to scoff at. Still, John had serious doubts about God as humanity’s creator, because John knew that God had not created him. Maybe he made Buddy, though. Buddy was no cafeteria Catholic, you see. Buddy had a fire in his heart and a love for God that could never cease, despite the countless theological arguments that inevitably ended in shouting matches over supper. Then, Mother would calm John with her voice and a touch of her arm, and Father would poke John in the ribs and a “What’s the matter with God? Think carefully, He’s everywhere so you know he’s listening.” John always felt better when Mother and Father paid attention to him. John lost his train of thought when the deacon raised his voice for a climactic finish.

“Remember, children. God has blessed us with his presence in every single one of you. Be you black or white, man or woman, know that God is within you, and that He loves you. Amen,” the priest finished. He raised his arms high. The pews responded with a concluding “amen,” and the deacon lowered his hands. He walked down the stairs from the pew to reveal a rather small stature, unexpectedly so. The oratory prowess with which the priest had delivered his homily was conducive to a strong youth with a newfound passion for the Lord. But unless John’s eyes fooled him, this man of only five feet had shattered the foundations of his followers. Well, temporarily, thought John. After all, after every heartfelt hymn and feeling of good will towards men Buddy experienced, he always returned home only to act out his most sinful desires. Through no fault of his own, however, Mother and Father had no idea that the school they had sent Buddy to would be so profoundly rotten to the core, reeking of lust, gluttony, and a litany of other sins that John was unaware of.

“John, come on,” Buddy said firmly. In John’s thoughts, he had forgotten that after the conclusion of a ceremony, one was expected to leave.

“Sorry, Buddy. I was just thinking,” John replied.

Buddy tossed his head to the side, and his blonde locks revealed the face of an angel. Buddy flashed his famous smile.

“You think too much John. You’re not here to think. You’re here to be my friend,”

Buddy was not incorrect by any stretch of the imagination. John stood up, made his way down the wood veneered plastic pews, and followed Buddy through the long aisle to the atrium. He walked in, and was hit with the artificial oxygen created in a lab somewhere far away, probably Liberia. They were the world’s leading oxygen producer after all.

Buddy made his way to the respirator hanger, where his respirator hung alone. Everyone else had left by the time the pair had finally decided to make their exit, and it was reflected in the various pieces of garbage lying on the carpeted floor. A pamphlet here, a forgotten pill crushed on the ground, its contents destined to be vacuumed and expunged into space. Buddy stood at the doorway, tapping his foot impatiently as John stood processing the environment around him. Buddy already had his respirator in his mouth, and John could tell.

“Let’shhhhh go Shhhhhon,” he said. The respirator in his mouth, while essential for survival Outdoors, made it nigh impossible to speak understandable English while equipped.

It followed that most people didn’t talk on the street anymore.

There were a smattering of people at the hoverstop at Kennedy Square, meaning we would be last in the queue. Being a Sunday, most of the businesses surrounding the church were closed, so the only people at the stop were the remnants from the church. The church was sandwiched between a bakery and a jewelers, the trio of businesses being bookended by a synthetic plant store and a music store, etc. John enjoyed this style of city planning. It was efficient, saved space for more business, for more money. In the center of the plaza was a single synthetic tree, making a pathetic attempt to produce oxygen to populate the atmosphere. It was nearly identical to one of the famous old oak trees, except for the black nature of its trunk. That remained as the only reminder that no matter how real, how magnificent and grand it was, that oak tree served only as a feeble reminder of days long gone.

John wondered what it was like back then. To have trees everywhere, to know that the air you breathed wasn’t made in a lab in a foreign country you’ve never been to (nor intend to go to), to feel grass beneath your toes when you walked in a park instead of plastic, to smell the real smell of a rose, and not vanilla, or chocolate, or whatever flavor whoever bought the rose chose it to be. These were things John pondered quite frequently. He also wondered if he could possibly be the only one who thought these thoughts. Surely, he thought, there is someone else who wishes to see these things in reality? Not in the 2-D pictures, or the 3-D holo representations, but an actual tree? Of course, there were obviously other people who thought these thoughts as well. But it was not polite conversation to discuss wonderings such as these. After all, isn’t it better this way anyway?
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I'm trying to write a new story, and this is an excerpt from the first chapter. Enjoy!